Procrastination
by EleanorLilyPotter
Summary: A series of drabbles/one-shots brought on by a Tumblr prompt challenge. Pairings: Kurtofsky, Kurtbastian, Smythofsky, Sebkurtofsky - Kurt/Dave/Sebastian.
1. Stawberries and Cream

**aetheriata asked: Kurtbastian red colored mirror.**

* * *

Kurt shivered and laid his head back on Sebastian's shoulder when his boyfriend's fingers skimmed over the fluttering muscles of his stomach.

When one of those talented fingers hooked under the strap of his thong, pulling and letting it snap back onto his sensitive skin, he groaned, closing his eyes.

"No, babe. I want you to see," whispered Sebastian, tracing the shell of Kurt's ear with the tip of his tongue. "Look."

Kurt's opened his eyes only a slit, watching them both in the full-length mirror. His blush ran down his neck to splay and darken under the press of Sebastian's fingers; almost detachedly, he admired the hazy glint of his own eyes and the stark contrast of his dark, swollen mouth (where Sebastian had licked and sucked and bitten down until Kurt's lips were throbbing hotly) against the soft bright pink of his cheeks.

"Look, gorgeous," Sebastian insisted, sucking Kurt's earlobe between his teeth.

Kurt looked and looked and looked until he had his fill of his own heaving chest, of the sharp angle of his hipbones framed by the red frills of the thong, of the obscene bulge of his leaking cock pushing out the delicate lace.

"So fucking hot. Want you so bad like this," murmured Sebastian reverently, gripping Kurt's hips and pulling him back onto his own full-fledged erection.

"J-just like this?" stammered Kurt.

Sebastian chuckled warmly and held him closer, one hand dropping down to cup Kurt through the flimsy fabric, fondling him deftly until he was a wrecked whimpering mess in Sebastian's arms.

"Always, love."


	2. I'll Bring You Breakfast

**sexbornpoison asked: Sebastian comforting Kurt**

* * *

"He's not with me."

Kurt looked up wearily, sighing as he set eyes on Sebastian sitting across from him at his corner table at the Lima Bean. He had been trying to do his homework while leaving a bare minimum of tear splotches on the paper, but, from what he could see so far, he'd failed spectacularly.

"Dave told me you and Blaine had broken up. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with me."

Kurt snorted with minimal heat and shook his head, glancing back down at his doomed homework.

"It _didn't_."

"I _know_," snapped Kurt, slamming his open palm down on the table, startling Sebastian. "I know the world usually revolves around you, Sebastian, but for once that wasn't the problem."

"Good."

"Oh, really? See, considering everything, I'd much rather it had been _you_, other than Blaine's desire not to tie himself down so soon, or, should I rephrase it, him oh-so-generously letting me go, so that I could enjoy the 'full New York experience with no regrets'." He shook his head again and looked away from Sebastian's pitying eyes.

"Idiot."

Kurt felt himself tearying up again because _that_, that was just wonderful, wasn't it, that he had been dumped by the most condescending heartless bastard in existence, that he still loved said condescending heartless bastard deperately, that is heart broke every few minutes whenever he found himself forgetting and immediately recollecting every sweet precious moment spent in Blaine's arms, and now he was in for a session of careless insults provided by Sebastian Smythe in the odious flesh.

"He's such a fucking _idiot_, I can't believe it," said Sebastian softly, mostly to himself.

Kurt blinked, his hand wavering over his books, ready to throw them into his messenger bag and walk away.

"I mean, doing it for _me_ would be stupid enough, but just letting you go, what a fucking idiot."

"S-Sebastian?" whispered Kurt, eyes wide with bewilderment.

Sebastian's eyebrows were drawn together in something close to Kurt's own confusion, but his jaw was set in… anger? Before Kurt could say anything else, he stood up resolutely.

"I'm going to buy you coffee," he said curtly before making his way to the counter.

Kurt stared after him, speechless, his mind a convuluted whirl. He kept staring when Sebastian came back and sat down closer to him, _beside_ him, and pushed the cup in his direction. Kurt's hands wrapped around it authomatically and brought it to his lips before he even understood how and when had he been drawn into this alternate reality, because _Sebastian knew his coffee order_.

"How do you know my coffee order?" he blurted out, his tongue still tingling from the delicious heat.

Sebastian shrugged and waved his hand urging Kurt to drink more while whiping a mouth-watering blueberry muffin out of nowhere.

"What -"

"Eat. You're too fucking skinny, anyway."

Kurt swallowed a comeback, if only because it hadn't seemed cutting but _fond_.

"Sebastian, what. Just… what."

There was no answer. Kurt was about to insist, when suddenly there was the faintest pressure of soft warm lips against his cheek; he whipped his head around in shock, staring in awe at Sebastian's flushed face and wide, terrified eyes.

Then Sebastian's chair was pushed back swiftly and the other boy was scurrying off, flustered and clumsy, with only a mumbled "_comfort food_" before he vanished from Kurt's sight.

Kurt glared at his muffin and took a vicious bite out of it, chewing furiously.

For once, his thoughts were the farthest from Blaine they could possibly be.


	3. Outnumbered

**deeniebeeisapirate asked: Kurt/Sebastian/Dave. Meeting the parents for the first time.**

* * *

"Two boys. Two of those. Two of _them_. _Two."_

"Burt, honey."

"No, Carole. There are two. I don't think you're getting this right. _Two."_

"I'm sure Kurt can handle them. And I've made plenty of food to go around as well."

"_Two. _I'd be fine, I'd be thrilled if he was dumping Kar-_David_ for that Sebastian kid, but _two_."

"Honey. We've talked about you holding that grudge against Dave; it's bad for your arteries. Besides, I've known boys like Sebastian, and _I, _for one, am thrilled Kurt has Dave to help keep him on his toes."

"_Two_."

"The more the merrier, sweetheart."

"But… _two_."

—-

"_Four_."

"Oh, will you just get it over with already?"

"I have to meet four parents. I usually start avoiding when there are only _two_ looming on."

"You've met them already, Bas."

"_Four_."

"My dad adores you."

"Yeah, and he never makes a secret of it."

"_Dave_."

"What? 'S the truth."

"So you think we should tell my dad about all the mess with Blaine? Maybe then you two'll be on slightly more even ground. And by _even_, I actually mean my dad kicking Sebastian out at gun point."

"…no."

"I didn't think so, either."

"Yeah, I think you're both missing the point. _Four_."

"I don't see the problem. More practice?"

"You say that 'cause they _all _love you."

"'_Oh_, darling, isn't Kurt just the most _charming_ boy.'"

"'He's so _polite_. And he knows his way around an engine - you can't go wrong with _that_!'"

"'And he hasn't got that dreadful American accent you've been cultivating, _Sebastian_. What a delightful boy.'"

"'And he actually _speaks_ at the dinner table, _David_. What a nice kid.'"

"Oh, shut up, the both of you."

—-

"Now, see. That wasn't so bad was it?"

"I'm still on the fence about that Sebastian boy. I worried he was a bad influence when he was just Davey's friend, but _now_-"

"Oh, he's harmless. And Kurt was lovely, as always. Such _taste_."

"Did you really have to _giggle_ when he complimented your dress?"

"Don't be a grumpy old bear. He's the sweetest thing, makes me feel like I'm a blushing schoolgirl again."

"Look like it, too."

"None of it now. Dave has _excellent_ taste. Such handsome boys. You should be proud."

"But… _two_."

—-

"Well, at least he's not sleeping around anymore."

"But _two_ at the same time?"

"Honestly, I find it almost restrained of him. I had already resigned myself to a steady orgy."

"He gets it from _you_."

"Is this a step up from calling me a manwhore, darling?"

"Quite. Strange."

"Yes, precious?"

"I had this unfanthomable idea that it was Kurt's _boyfriend_ Bastian was hunting after."

"Well, then. Maybe that's how they met."

"_Ghastly_. Your son has no manners."

"_Your_ son is a heartbreaker."

"And possibly a homewreacker."

"I have the feeling he might be settling down, now."

"_Finally_. But _two_?"

—-

"Hey."

"Hey, babe. Dave?"

"Sleeping. As we should be. Come back to bed."

"I - I will. In a minute."

"Do you want me to stay?"

"You should sleep. We kinda wore you out."

"I think we might remember things a little differently. I distinctly recall 'God, no, please, I can't again, oh God, Dave, Kurt, please, don't touch me, oh God, _touchmepleaseyesthereagain _-"

" —- "

" —- "

"_Hmmm_. Cute. You sound hot when you're altering reality."

"You know the best thing about a three-way relationship? _Witnesses_."

"Biased witnesses. He's whipped."

"You're one to talk. Come on. Come back to bed and finish what you started for once."

"Yes, I'm definitely the tease here."

"Bas?"

"In a minute, love."

"You're not freaking out a _lot_, are you? I know _four_ is kind of a tall order."

"I don't do parents. I never do parents."

"… okay?"

"But I want to do your parents. And Dave's."

"God, I hope not."

"What_- _why would you _go there_, stop going there!"

"I know you want to. And you did so beautifully. And now you're coming back to bed and _doing_your wonderful boyfriends."

"Kurt, I -"

"Sshh, I know. Come on, I wanna blow Dave awake."

"_Nice_. Can I -"

"No cameras."

"Spoil-sport."

"I know. But I'll even _share_."

"Tempting. You got yourself a deal, Hummel."

"You're so easy."

"Hey. Must I remind you that _four_? I deserve a fucking good reward."

"Oh, _god. _Whine, whine, _whine_."


	4. Shirley Temple Spoiled

**Anonymous asked: Drunk Kurt/Sober Dave**

* * *

"Kiss me?"

Dave laughed and shook his head.

"Not gonna take advantage of you, now, Fancy."

Kurt pouted and clinged harder to his arm.

"_Kiss me_. Come on, come on, kiss me."

The taller boy snorted and pressed his lips quickly to the corner of Kurt's mouth.

"There. Come on, let's take you home. You fucking lightweight."

"That's Aunt Mabel kisses! I want, I want Dave kisses!"

Dave felt a smile growing on his determined business face.

"Don't want you puking in my mouth, how about that?"

"No puking. Urgh, don't talk about puke."

Kurt squinted in the dark parking lot as Dave clicked open his truck.

"Get in, baby. Wanna ride in the back so you can lie down?"

"Yes." Kurt nodded for emphasis, a strange glint in his eye. "Wanna ride. Back. You."

Dave swallowed, feeling his determination waver.

"We – we'll do that tomorrow, Fancy, okay? I've got the house to myself and –"

He was cut short when two deceivingly slim hands pulled him on top of a very warm, very much willing body on the backseat of his truck. He braced himself with his hands on either side of Kurt's head just in time to avoid elbowing his nose.

"We've never done it in _your _car, hum? _Dave_."

Kurt pushed up, tugging at Dave's bottom lip with his teeth, making him whine embarrassingly high.

"Fuck, baby, come on, not here, not now, you're completely shitfaced –"

"Not too drunk for _this_," countered Kurt, bucking his hips hard against Dave's for emphasis.

"_Fuck_ –"

"_Yess._"

Dave felt himself giving in. He kissed Kurt's open, fever-hot mouth with desperation, putting into it all the broken restraint he had been holding on to for the entire night. He sucked Kurt's tongue into his own mouth, reaching down blindly to cup the hardening bulge in Kurt's painfully tight pants.

"Mmmgh, _David…_"

"Fuckfuckfuckshit_fuck_!"

He pulled away as fast as he could, barely avoiding crushing Kurt's calf with his knee. He stepped away from the car, fumbling and breathing hard through his nose, willing some of the night's fresh air to cool his blood.

"Dave?"

Kurt's voice was small and confused, and Dave hated himself for it.

"Just – Kurt, come on, we gotta get you home, your dad –"

"Don't you want me?"

Dave stared, absolutely sure of having heard wrong.

Kurt sat up, sniffling softly.

"We haven't… you know, for a _week_, and –"

"Wait. Wait, wait, _wait_. You're not serious about this, are you? This is just your inner drunken prissy self making some huge thing out of –"

"We should – I need to get home."

Dave pressed his knuckles into his forehead, sighing heavily.

"You gotta be fucking _kidding_ me."

"Maybe I'll walk then," hissed Kurt with a little more heat, for which Dave was thankful for. He'd rather have Fancy's bitchiness than Kurt's tears.

"The hell you will. If you think I'm gonna let you walk home drunk out of your face –"

"You're not the boss of me!"

Dave cracked up at that. It's not like he could help it, really. Kurt managed to glare at him for a whole ten seconds before breaking down in hiccupping giggles.

Still sniggering, Dave pushed him back on the seat so he could maneuver himself inside the car. Kurt stared at him with wide, glassy eyes. Dave shook his head and closed the door – then he pulled the slighter boy into his lap and kissed him, fast and bruising.

Kurt gasped into his mouth, breath sweet with his definitely _not_ virgin Shirley Temple.


	5. Your Eyes On Her Face

**klainerswillalwaysklaine asked: Kurtbastian. Their daughter's first date.**

* * *

"Hi, babe," greeted Sebastian tiredly, wrapping his arms around Kurt's waist from behind and resting his chin on his husband's shoulder. "Where's Emmy?"

Kurt smiled and turned his head to press a soft kiss to the other man's lips.

"Long day, huh?"

Sebastian yawned and nodded, chin digging almost painfully into his shoulder, but Kurt didn't complain. There were worse things waiting for Sebastian that evening than Kurt would ever choose to punish him with.

"She's getting ready," he said airily, waiting for it to reach his husband's weary brain.

"For what, dinner? I thought she'd gotten over primping for - wait, she did." Sebastian's tone grew clipped.

He turned Kurt around until they were facing each other fully and took in his husband's playful smile and the wicked, wicked, wicked glint in his eyes.

"Kurt."

"Bas?"

Sebastian breathed in deeply, his eyes hardening into that steely quality that always made Kurt shiver, remembering those few times he had gotten to watch his husband in court.

God, if he could shoe in a free hour before Emmanuelle came back from her date -

"Kurt, who exactly is she primping for?"

Kurt licked his lips and hooked his finger into Sebastian's belt hoop, trying to pull him closer. Sebastian's resistance was short-lived; he sighed in surrender and cupped Kurt's cheek, pulling him in for a hungry kiss.

A dry cough made them break away and level almost identical glares at the very unimpressed teenager leaning against the doorway.

"God, you guys. Keep it PG, will ya?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes and leaned his forehead onto Kurt's shoulder with a groan.

"I told you not to let her hang out at Finn's so much, but no." He fashioned his tone into a shrilly imitation of Kurt's. "'But Bas, he's my brother, and you know Emmy loves to babysit for them, and it's good for her to be around Kyle, and responsibility, and blah, blah, blah-

"Keep it up, Sebastian, and you'll spend your night smartassing to our couch," said Kurt sweetly, pushing him away and eliciting a muffled laugh from their daughter.

Sebastian winked at her and wrapped one arm around his husband's shoulders, ducking to avoid Kurt's batting hands and pressing a smacking kiss to the corner of the his mouth. Kurt turned to bite down on his lip harshly, before sauntering away, ignoring Sebastian's spluttering over 'domestic violence' and 'witnesses' and 'nail you to the mattress, we'll see who's the smartass then'.

"Em, honey, just let me look at you," cooed Kurt, twirling her around. "Fabulous, baby, he'll fall to his knees for you, I know he will."

Emmanuelle giggled and twirled again on her own before smoothing down the front of her short dress.

Short? Miniscule.

"Don't you think so, honey?" asked Kurt in that same honey-dripping, venom-laced tone he always used to get a rise out of Sebastian.

"Sure. Where's the rest of it?" retorted Sebastian, getting only a bored eye-roll from his daughter and a hip-check from Kurt. "No, seriously. Where did it go?"

His daughter shared a look with Kurt and Sebastian was, as per usual, utterly struck by their similiarities. Even if she had gotten Rachel's hair and built, those were Kurt's fucking stunning eyes and his lovely awkward smile and permanently up-turned nose, that was Kurt's face and his baby girl's face, and she had on a slip of something and she was going out with some guy, and what if he was the kissing-on-a-first-date type, or the groping-over-the-clothes type, or the other type, oh God, what if he was like Sebastian, and now he really need to lie down, and puke a little in anxiety, an lock Emmanuelle up in the ivory-est fucking tower he could find in such short notice.

"You're not going out," he decided, nodding to himself in approval.

Kurt elbowed his ribs sharply and he sighed in defeat.

"Do we even get to meet the little punk?"

She rolled his eyes a third time and he kept down a biting comment about fresh repertoires.

"Punk, dad? Really. Anyway, I'm off." She arched one eyebrow and he suddenly felt seventeen again. "And no, he's not coming in. I'll just miss out on that fabulous first-date experience, if you guys don't mind."

He minded a lot, but she was already kissing Kurt goodbye and letting him make a last good fuss over her hair and clothing before she waved goodbye at Sebastian and walked out the door.

Sebastian hated it when the kitchen was silent. He hated it when Emmy wasn't skipping around Kurt in bunny slippers to steal cookie dough. He hated that the colorful alphabet magnets had been missing for so long. And he really hated his husband for looking so proud and damn happy that their baby was running somewhere to probably drink, and smoke, and get in trouble and kiss lots of boys.

"She's sixteen," he muttered.

"Oh, please. You lost your virginity at age twelve," quipped Kurt, walking around him to set the oven. At Sebastian's panicked look he sighed. "She's not having sex tonight, Sebastian. We've sheltered her a little, but she's got a good head on her shoulders and I've met Allen. He's cutely head over heels for her, and just that shade of dorky to mellow out the jock-factor." He tapped his bottom lip with his finger. "Reminds me a bit of Sam, now that I think about it."

Oh, Kurt knew him well. Jealousy was just the thing to get Sebastian's mind off of anything.

"Does he now," he said slowly, pinning his husband against the counter with his body.

Kurt smirked up at him, the fucking tease.

"You know," started Kurt, tracing circles over Sebastian's collarbone with the tips of his fingers, "the roast will take about an hour still."

"Hmm?" hummed Sebastian, nuzzling into his husband's neck contentedly.

"Huh-huh," assented Kurt, already unbuttoning both their shirts with his fantastically coordinated hands. "And Em won't be back anytime soon, so…"

"You know, Hummel, I think I see your point," he drawled, breathing in Kurt's unmistakable scent with a pleased sigh.

This whole only-daughter-growing-out-of-her-footsie-pijamas-and-going-with-more-or-less-wholesome-boys-while-leaving-her-very-grateful-parents-unninterrupted-by-rude-gagging-noises-and-fake-coughs thing was turning out to be much better than Sebastian had foreseen.

"It's actually Hummel-Smythe now, jerk," Kurt retorted, pulling off Sebastian's belt with an experienced swish that would have made a lesser man blush.

"Oh, baby, I love it when you talk dirty," growled Sebastian as he dragged his husband away from the kitchen.

Unfortunately, they never made it all the way to the bedroom and eventually woke up to the acrid smell of burnt meat, the screech of the fire alarm and their daughter's grumbling about never leaving them alone ever again, and 'sex maniacs', and 'did you have to miss the couch and all the blankets in the living room, God'.


	6. Ducked

**anonymous asked: prompt 1) hit the head**

* * *

Kurt felt the vibration of the crash before he saw it. In the second that spread between Sebastian's foot slipping from the ladder steps and his body hitting the floor, Kurt never heard is heart beating.

He wondered fleetingly what that could mean for his health; hearts were supposed to beat, that's what they did, they could go faster when best friends smiled in _that way_, or they could beat slower when best friends dropped into your bed in a near alcoholic coma and you got to watch them wake up grumpy and whiny and needy and so lovely that your heart ached and folded into itself during that slow beat.

But they didn't _stop_.

And then Sebastian _did_ hit the floor and Kurt was moving faster than he ever had, and he thought hysterically to himself _if only I could have ran like this back at McKinley sometimes, _but then he was _there_, hands fluttering over Sebastian's pale face and screeching at everyone else to _back the fuck off, you can't move him, don't you know anything, don't you watch tv, don't you dare touch him_.

"Indoor voice, Kurt, we've talked about this," mumbled Sebastian with a pained groan, blinking furiously.

Then he smiled up a Kurt, in _that way_, and laid his head on his lap.


	7. Flushed

**anonymous asked: prompt 2) king of spades**

* * *

"_Royal_. _Flush."_

Sebastian smirked victoriously at Kurt's bewildered frown.

"Read it and weep, Kurtiekins." He winked and eyed Kurt's boxer briefs hungrily. "Strip."

Kurt shook his head slowly, discarding his two pairs and pilling up the cards methodically.

Then he started counting. Sebastian paled slightly and swallowed.

"What - why - you -"

Kurt shushed him and kept counting.

Sebastian curled his hands into his lap and hung his head.

He flinched at Kurt's gleeful "Ah-ah!".

"I _knew_ I had seen the king of spades at the bottom of the pile. And_ lo and behold,_" Kurt moved to sit on Sebastian's still clothed thighs brandishing the two equal cards under his nose, "honey, we've got _twins_!"

Sebastian snorted involuntarily and looked up. Kurt was glaring at him in faux-anger; his lips were twitching madly.

"Honestly, Sebastian, two decks? I was a little skeptic with a queen _and _a ten in the fold, and then you turn the river and _bam_, jack of spades." Kurt shook his head in dismay. "I'm offended you'd even consider that could possibly slip past me."

Sebastian blushed; Kurt's mouth opened in a small 'o'.

"I _see_."

Then he was popping the button free, pulling down Sebastian's zipper and wringing his hand inside his jeans. Sebastian gave a small strangled sigh, making Kurt grin smugly.

"Commando, uh?" He mouthed a spot behind Sebastian's ear. "_Strip_."


	8. Best Best Friends

**anonymous asked: prompt 3) me love cookies**

* * *

Dave doesn't care much for cookies. He likes the salty stuff better, but Bas _loves _sweets; so when his mommy remembers to slip a handful of chocolate chip cookies into his lunch bag, he always trades them for his best friend's clandestine bag of chips. They always sit together by the swings, munching away happily, and Dave always laughs when Bastian kicks up sand at the girls, 'cause y'know, _girls_.

_Ew_.

Bastian doesn't care much for Power Rangers. It sucks, because Dave's got the yellow and the blue and the green one, but he doesn't have the pink, because Bas says it's girly, and he doesn't have the red one even though red's his favorite color, all because his mom makes awesome mini-hotdogs but she doesn't know a single thing about Power Rangers. If Bas liked them, maybe his dad would buy him the ones Dave doesn't have and they could play together.

Bas likes playing at Cowboys & Indians, and Dave goes along easily, but he thinks Bastian doesn't really know how to play it, because Dave always ends up as the cowboy's horse, and of course Bastian is _always_ the cowboy. And they don't have indians.

It's cool, anyway. Dave really likes Bas. He wishes they could have more sleepovers at his friend's house 'cause it's _awesome_, and his mom makes the best snacks _in the world_, and he and Bas get to stay up all night long watching scary movies and chasing around Bastian's old cat.

Bas is his best friend. That's why Dave doesn't really get why he pushed his best friend off the bench when he started kicking up sand at the new kid with the blue lunch bag and the weird shirt.

Sure, he looked kinda like a girl, even with short hair and wearing pants, but he had been around for a _week_ and was still always alone at lunchtime and playtime, and he'd started sniffling when Sebastian got sand on his weird clothes, and Dave had thought he had really pretty eyes ever since Miss Brody had pulled him to the front of the class and told them all that his name was Kurt.

Bas had glared up at him in betrayal, yelled that he wasn't Dave's friend anymore _forever, _and had stalked over to the swings, holding on to one and snapping and kicking at anyone who wanted to ride.

Dave had been a little worried, because _forever_ was a long time, maybe even until dinnertime, and they were supposed to have a sleepover today.

But that was when Kurt grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the sandbox to show Dave his red Power Ranger. When playtime was over and they had to go in again, Dave didn't even remember Sebastian, 'cause Kurt had just told him he was the best best friend _ever_; Dave had blushed when Kurt smiled shyly and waved goodbye at him, and he didn't speak one word to Sebastian during the entire ride to his house.

After dinner, Sebastian punched his shoulder and called him a big girl, and Dave pushed Bastian and called him a boner (he didn't really know what that was, but Miss Brody had heard Jason say it once and had been really mad, so it should be pretty mean), and they were best friends again.

But Dave couldn't help but remember that he was Kurt's _best_ best friend.


	9. Insecurities

**pawprintmusings asked: K/D/S: Dave insecure, shy.**

* * *

It hits him sometimes, how beautiful they both are.

Like this, when he walks in on them unannounced, and they're wrapped into each other, Sebastian's long lines and sharp angles clasping around the soft paleness and smooth curves of Kurt's body.

It's so fucking beautiful, and lovely, and yeah, really fucking _hot_, and all those words ever invented to describe those kind of people, the kind that aren't Dave.

Sweaty, chubby, about a 100 pounds overweight, _ordinary_ Dave.

Seriously, just the other day he started combing back his hair in his obsessive search for bald spots.

And _sorry_, but it's not like he can grow hair follicles when there weren't any to begin with, and he has never waxed his fucking eyebrows in his _life_.

Dave works out.

Dave diets.

Dave is still chubby, no, _about 100 pounds overweight. _Dave sweats like a fucking racehorse in August at midday.

And who the fuck knows what else he's gonna be by the time he's thirty.

Sometimes he just doesn't want to have sex, okay.

He doesn't really feel like undressing in front of two could-be underwear models, doesn't want to see his huge paws on them, doesn't want to wheeze and pant all over them, to crush them under his huge, hairy (for now, _for now_), stinky self.

So he says he wants to watch; Sebastian smirks and calls him a 'kinky old bastard'; Kurt blushes all the way to that gorgeous cock of his and kisses Dave quick and dirty before sauntering over to the bed. Dave gets off alone like never before and takes care of them after, wiping off cum and saliva and lube from their damp, flushed skin. Still in his t-shirt and boxers, he lies behind an extremely naked Kurt and reaches around him to cup Sebastian's ass, and only goes to sleep long after they're snoring softly next to him.

He stops showering with them, eventually.

It's a matter of logistics, really. Their shower starts feeling cramped even with just two, so two adult males plus _Dave_ is about as comfortable as it would be squeezing into Kurt's impossible jeans.

They stop badgering him about it, too. Sebastian shrugs, walking away uninterested, and Kurt lets his eyes linger on him for a while on the doorway before he follows.

Dave doesn't go to the gym with them.

The gym is just an excuse for Sebastian to contort Kurt into ridiculous, vaguely obscene positions until Kurt is red-faced from both the effort and their hysterical laughter at the scandalized (and in notable cases, lascivious) looks they get. They spend less than twenty minutes 'exercising' and then hit the juice bar, where they pass the time by creating absurd and more often than not undrinkable concoctions.

Dave has no time for that kind of nonsense.

He gets up at five in the morning for his jogging session; at 6 AM he's doing laps at the local swimming pool; by half past eight he's getting home ready to drop and sleep for a week. Kurt and Sebastian are at the breakfast table feeding each other french toast, and arguing over who emptied the coffee pot last, and playing footsie in their sleep socks, and Dave just wants to yell and beat shit up because that should also be his life.

He doesn't really eat with them anymore. In front of them. Near them.

He's a fucking grown-up, he has earned his fucking independence and he pays for a third of _everything_, so he can very well eat when he goddamn pleases, and Kurt and Sebastian can shove their hurt looks and recriminating sneers up both their asses and live fucking happily ever after.

He stops sleeping in the same bed as them.

He spends half a month's salary on the comfiest, largest sofa he can find.

He only realizes he's started referring to the three of them as 'I' and 'they' instead of 'we' when it stops sounding wrong.

He starts looking for apartments.

It's unsustainable, really; Kurt looks close to bursting into tears most of the times, and Sebastian looks close to bursting _something_ on Dave's nose _all the time_.

He loves the both of them more than he's ever loved anyone, than he's ever thought you _could_ love someone, and he's making them fucking miserable.

They talk in whispers when he's in the room, but there's a whole lot of yelling when they think Dave has gone out, or when they still haven't noticed he has come back.

His moving out is quiet, understated.

Actually, he runs. He picks those few hours in the day when they're both out, crams most of his belongings into three huge cardboard boxes and leaves the rest behind, for them to do with them whatever they please.

He doesn't hear from them for a while, but when he does it's like a fucking earthquake has come upon him to rattle him up good before the tornado gets there.

They burst in through the door and it's the most beautiful sight Dave has been blessed with in so long that he almost goes down on his knees to weep out his gratitude.

Almost.

Instead, he grunts at them to get the fuck out of his house.

That's when Kurt starts crying for real.

He knows how Kurt hates crying. How easy the tears come whenever he's angry, or frustrated, how difficult it is for him to stand up for himself through the blurry haze. He is always violent with it, wipes off the wetness, stomps around and clenches his face muscles to get it to stop.

He doesn't do that now. He stands there by the ratty armchair that Dave salvaged in some backyard sale he can't remember, and just lets it flow, cries like he's helpless, cries like he's _broken_.

Dave wants to snarl at Sebastian to hold him, to console him, to fucking do something instead of _just standing there_, but Sebastian clenches his jaw and levels his glare at a point on the wall three inches to the left of Dave's ear.

Then Kurt starts _talking_, and it's a thousand times worse.

"We-we can do better, we can - we can do other stuff, more stuff, better stuff, we can b-be _better_, j-just tell us and we will, we _will_, Dave, anything you want -"

"Shut up, Kurt," says Sebastian, and Dave shivers because his voice sounds _dead_.

"Is it - is it someone else? Other people, we can, we could try something, work it out, look at o-options - or maybe it's just space, and we can do that, we could get a bigger house and when you're s-sick of us you could have your own - your own -"

"_Kurt_."

"We could go out more, or stay at home more, or we could - vacations, somewhere n-nice and quiet, or loud and full, or we-we," his sobs grow worryingly raspy by them," we _could_ take a break if that's - but don't - don't go away, don't disappear again, I can't - we can't -"

"Shut. The fuck. _Up_, Kurt."

"Is it me?" he asks quietly, breathlessly, but Dave can't see him through the red blur that is his vision, and he certainly can't _talk_. "I know I've - I've been letting myself go a little for a while now, but I can fix it, I know I - I can work out more and - tanning beds, and -"

"Fuck _you_, shut up!" growls Sebastian, and he doesn't sound dead anymore, but like he _wants_ to be.

"No, I _won't!" _yells Kurt back, his face red and blotchy, his eyes like stars; Sebastian sneers at him, his spine stiff like a broomstick handle, his face frozen.

God, Dave loves them so fucking much, he can't fucking stand it, so goddamn _painful -_

"There has to be - this can't just _happen_, I can't let it, I can't let him, I _can't_-" Kurt sobs are turning into wails. "I'll do anything, everything, Dave, please, will you just look at me, just for a little while, please, you haven't - so long, you haven't looked-"

"It's obviously not you."

They're trying to _kill_ him. This is their revenge, Dave figures.

Sebastian isn't angry. Sebastian was never angry.

Sebastian is resigned.

"I'll move out tomorrow. I'll be out by three PM, that's when the moving van is coming," he informs them. "Feel free to bring your stuff back by then."

"B-Bastian," whimpers Kurt before slumping back against the wall.

Sebastian turns to him with a pained expression that looks like it could be a smile in some other life the three of them might have lived in.

"Don't, baby. You know it's for the best."

Kurt hugs himself without a word, his eyes finally dry, but stony.

Sebastian turns back to Dave, and the longing, the desperation he had for Kurt is _still there_ when he takes in overweight, sweaty, _ordinary_ Dave.

"Just don't pull anything like that on him _ever again_, you _fuck_. I'll - I'll kill you," and Dave believes him, but he still doesn't move.

It isn't Kurt's huddled form or Sebastian's retreating back that finally shake him off of his stupor, but the strangled sound that comes out of his own throat. It's as if his body is finally, _mercifully_ rebelling against him,rolling up its metaphorical sleeves and spitting into its palms, rubbing them and snarling '_alright, now, you big fucker, you're out for this round_'. He stumbles forward, trips over his own feet and the old fraying rug, tackles Sebastian from behind and drags him kicking and screaming over to where Kurt is watching them with big round eyes.

He practically slams Sebastian against the wall and growls '_the fuck do you think you're going, baby_' which is a little weird, and not only because he never calls Sebastian baby outside of sex. He bites into Sebastian mouth, and is probably close to injuring him permanently when Kurt tugs shyly on his sleeve. He breaks away from Sebastian's bottom lip that looks shockingly beautiful all swollen and hurt with the tiniest drop of blood that Dave smears gently with his thumb. They're both looking at him, all huge, hungry and furious eyes; Kurt nuzzles into his shoulder and Sebastian kicks his ankle hard enough to send him crashing to the floor and them both with him.

They fuck hard and fast and soft and slow right then and there, and for the rest of the day and the entire night.

Dave gets called a '_fucking idiot_' lots of times, and Sebastian gets a lot of ownership marks, and Kurt just grins and snuggles between them, their joined heartbeats lulling him into the best sleep he's had in months.


	10. Princess Peach

**Anonymous asked:**

**It's more like a drabble prompt if thats alright: Seb thinks Kurt is too skinny. Kurt thinks Seb is being silly. Cue Kurbastian sharing sweet boy kisses and a cookie with Sebastian giving Kurt his jacket because it's cold. Please and thankyou!**

**Anonymous asked:**

**Kurbastian. Sebastians Jacket, Coffee, Snow**

**Anonymous asked:**

**Kurbastian. Sebastian getting coffee for Kurt and giving him his jacket because it's cold.**

* * *

It had all been Finn's fault, really.

In fact, Kurt was pretty sure most of his life predicaments could be traced back to Finn Hudson.

You see, Kurt might sound a little bitchy, but he was also more than a little cold.

Actually, Kurt was _frozen_. He was a stylistic popsicle, he was an avant-garde ice sculpture, he was a fashionable fucking _icicle_ .

"You're d-dead, Finn Hudson," he muttered through violently clattering teeth.

His jeans were soaked through from bottom to thigh; his ankle boots, while stylish-yet-affordable, were _not _water proof; his cashmere sweater and light jacket, while perfectly coordinated, were respectively _cashmere_ and _light_.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

_Nononononono, go away_.

"G-Get lost, Sebastian."

His cool-acquaintance/reluctant-friend buried his hands in the undoubtedly _cozywarmwonderful_ pockets of his heavy parka and cocked his head to the side, appraising Kurt with a delighted smirk.

"Actually, you're more of a sore sight for _my _eyes, but lets not get hooked on semantics."

Kurt made a face and waved him off, stomping his feet furiously for just the barest residue of warmth. He did not know nor did he care what Sebastian could be doing in Lima on a Tuesday three days before Christmas break, in the middle of the heaviest snowfall in the history of Ohio.

_Must __**really**__ be Tuesday,_ he thought wryly.

"No. Don't waste your astounding wit and charm on my lowly self, please, don't," he grumbled, hugging himself tightly while plotting Finn's slow and painful demise.

Sebastian gave a step forward, his brow crinkling worriedly. He hesitated, biting his lip and looking back.

Kurt watched him, feeling oddly disappointed. He couldn't keep in a shuddery breath and huddled into himself miserably.

"There," he heard close behind him, and there was a _cozywarmwonderful_ weight over his shoulders, his back, his arms, a cocoon of heat and happiness encasing him whole, and Kurt felt like sobbing in gratitude.

He settled for blinking up warily at Sebastian, cringing internally at how unappealing he must look with his red nose and purple lips and twitching like some caffeine-addict Chihuahua.

And then he wondered exactly why would he be concerned over being _appealing_ to Sebastian Smythe.

"Now. Will you tell me why are you standing in the middle of your driveway, looking like a half-drowned, half-frozen rat, and practically snowed in?" Sebastian looked around and clicked his tongue. "Also, was that a snowman?"

Kurt looked wrathfully at the remains of Finn's Winter Wonderland Fun experiment and gnashed his teeth, nodding curtly.

"I see," drawled Sebastian, smirking. "Your life really turned out to be the whirlwind of sophisticated thrills you always dreamed it would, didn't it?"

Kurt ignored him and snuggled deeper into the heavy parka, discreetly inhaling the toe-curling vestiges of Sebastian's cologne.

Suddenly, there were hands tugging at the fabric, pulling and twisting; he struggled against them, grasping at what he could with still thawing greedy fingers.

"Hold on, just let me – just get your arms – fuck, Kurt, stop _moving_!" Sebastian growled, deep and demanding, and Kurt quieted down immediately, frame swaying a little in Sebastian's arms.

"There." Sebastian looked him over approvingly then frowned when Kurt tried to pull the parka tighter around his bare neck. "Wait, I – here."

He wrapped his woolen scarf around Kurt's head and neck until only his face was exposed to the cold. Kurt glared at him half-heartedly, but otherwise let himself be manhandled into mummification.

Sebastian was looking at him strangely, his fingers lingering on the edge of the scarf where it framed Kurt's jaw.

"You look ridiculous," he finally said, voice a little rough.

"I'm aware," Kurt retorted airily, curling his hands to keep them inside the sleeves. "But _warm_." He appraised the thick woolen jacket Sebastian still had on. "You're not cold?"

"I'm hot blooded," Sebastian assured him with a salacious wink, his hand dropping from Kurt's face.

Kurt didn't think he had ever _seen _a salacious wink, but Sebastian's had no other possible description.

"Mammals generally are. I'm sure meerkats qualify."

Sebastian pouted and Kurt felt the shocking urge to touch his bottom lip.

"Why are you homeless?" Sebastian asked, swerving off topic so unexpectedly that Kurt almost felt the whiplash.

He kicked a small heap of snow at his feet and shrugged morosely.

"Finn," he said, as if it explained everything.

For the smirk on Sebastian's face, maybe it did.

"_Finn_ wanted to build himself an army of snowmen, because he's obviously only seen snow _every winter in his life_, and he's five. _Finn_ forgot to bring carrots, and obviously you can't have nose-less snowmen. _Finn_ also wanted some of my old scarfs and buttons and _snacks_, so I had to help him bring all that out here." He paused to breathe in as Sebastian just hummed noncomitantly and adjusted the strings under Kurt's chin.

"_Finn_, somehow, after years of being a semi-functional human being, managed to lock us out, and of course he was the last one who used the spare key, so no one knows where it is. _Finn_ didn't have his cellphone or his car keys with him, so he decided he'd run over to the shop and borrow my dad's, and he's taking forever, and I _fell_ on his stupid snowman, and I hope my dad teaches him all there is to know about auto body shop health hazards." He scrunched up his nose. "_After_ he comes to rescue my poor hypothermic body, of course."

Sebastian gave him a small, shy smile, the kind that should look so wrong and lost on his face, but Kurt had never seen something so glorious.

"Thought you had been rescued already," the taller boy muttered, his fingers smoothing down the front of the parka.

Kurt gulped and shifted forward instinctively. Sebastian's eyes were very green and very lovely in the cold white light that had saturated Lima since sunrise; Sebastian's _mouth_ was also very lovely, darkened from the cold, lips full and chapped, begging for Kurt's care and attention.

Then a breeze picked up and it was enough to render him incoherent; parka aside, his jeans were still soaked through, as were his socks. His teeth started clattering again.

Sebastian snorted derisively and grabbed his arm, pulling Kurt behind him.

"Hey!"

"My car has heating, Special Gay. C'mon."

Kurt was about to protest when the words _car_ and _heating_ resounded in his mind, accompanied by the knowledge of it being _Sebastian's car_.

With heating.

"Oh, all right then," he assented to no one in particular since Sebastian obviously did not require his opinion on the subject, and he was already being shoved into the shotgun seat.

Warm leather seats made Kurt a very happy camper; when the heat kicked on, he had to clench his jaw and bite his tongue to keep from purring into the upholstery.

Sebastian shook his head at him, the glint in his eyes definitely fond – unless it was mocking, but Kurt honestly didn't care when there was warmth, and comfy seats, and Sebastian's cologne like a heady bubble around his head.

"Did you finish early too?" he asked as soon as he felt close to human again.

"No, I skipped all my finals and ran back to France to found an escort business with my dubious yet charmingly wealthy great-uncle," Sebastian deadpanned, and it was his luck that after a whole semester of continuously bumping into each other at NYU, Kurt had a good understanding of Sebastian's sarcasm; if he could imagine anyone pulling that off, it would be Meerkat.

"You _would_ have a dubious uncle."

"_Yet_ charmingly wealthy," Sebastian quipped with a smirk.

Kurt raised one eyebrow at him.

"But why Lima? Why not Paris, or Christmas in New York, or _home_, even though I still have no clue where you live –" Kurt grinned at Sebastian's snigger; then a thought came to his mind and his smile dropped. "Or… Westerville?"

Sebastian tilted his head, giving him a shrewd look.

"Westerville's a lousy lay," he said with a shrug.

Kurt's stomach churned, first at the thought of Blaine with _Sebastian_, then much more sickeningly at the thought of Sebastian with _Blaine_, of Sebastian with _anyone_.

"Hoping to try your luck in Lima, then?" he asked with a weak laugh, hoping against hope that Sebastian would take the gentlemanly route for once and _not _tell him, even if he was. Kurt was so warm and comfy, and Sebastian's car and Sebastian's clothes were so nice and sweet-smelling, and he just felt so _good_.

On a best-case scenario, Sebastian would ignore him and proceed with their chitchat until Kurt's dad came to the rescue. On a worst-case scenario, Sebastian would tell him. And then he would call Kurt at four in the morning, drunk out of his mind, anxious to spill every sordid detail.

So no wonder he was so completely blindsided by Sebastian's awkward cough and instant _blush_, of all things.

"Just dropped by to see a friend of mine," he said vaguely, avoiding Kurt's curious eyes.

Then he started twisting his body to reach the backseat, looking for something. Kurt tried to peek when he heard a low curse, but Sebastian was already back to the front of the car, holding out a Lima Bean travel cup and a small paper bag. When Kurt just looked at him dumbly, he rolled his eyes and thrust both items into his hands.

"Careful," he warned, waving the reddening tips of his injured fingers for emphasis.

Kurt smiled awkwardly and lifted the cup to his lips, blowing softly at the simmering liquid before taking a sip. He suppressed a low moan, but only by so much. It was exactly how he took his coffee, which meant nothing, obviously. Plenty of people took their coffee that way, Sebastian's _friend_ included.

"Good?" asked Sebastian with only a sideways look at him, fingers tapping the steering wheel.

Kurt hummed as he swallowed another scalding mouthful, appraising Sebastian's profile over the brim of the cup. He one-handedly opened the paper bag and narrowed his eyes at the contents.

The parka had been an accident, the car obligation, and the coffee a coincidence – but Kurt had to throw in the towel at the _cookie_.

The huge, gorgeous and delicious cookie, with dark and white chocolate chunks, still warm and tender, and chewy and _rich_. He felt himself fattening just by looking at it wrong.

This time, Kurt _did _moan as the flavor hit his palate, is eyes rolling back slightly into his head because, _god_, it _was_ his favorite, Sebastian had bought Kurt's coffee and Kurt's cookie, and he had driven all the way to Kurt's house to –

_To what?_

"Did you bring this for you or your friend?" he asked as neutrally as he managed to.

Sebastian scoffed and tuned on his side so that he was facing Kurt. A stray ray of that eerie white light played across the sharp angle of his jawbone; Kurt averted his eyes before it was too late.

"I drink _real_ coffee, Princess Peach."

Kurt scrunched up his nose at both the insinuation and the moniker and raised his eyebrows at Sebastian's wondering expression.

"_What_?"

"After many a trial and error attempts, I finally found the perfect pet name for you, _Peach_."

Kurt's throat clamped up around the remains of his cookie; he coughed violently, the spasms making his eyes water and his cheeks burn bright red.

"Why – why would you need a _pet name_ for me?" he stammered, body still overwrought with dry coughs.

He expected Sebastian to backtrack immediately, to insult Kurt's complexion in the most biting way possible, to kick him out into the cold with a mocking "_girls not allowed, Sister Agnes_" – but it was apparently Defy-Kurt's-Expectations Day for Sebastian Smythe.

"Charming. Just drink your coffee, Peach," he said airily, looking out at the white sea of Kurt's driveway.

Kurt grumbled a "_really?" _but swallowed the rest in one gulp, letting the warmth settle for good at the bottom of his stomach, flowing all the way to his still chilly toes. He was already feeling a little too warm all wrapped up in the too large parka, but he held on to it possessively, dreading the loss of Sebastian's smell and second-hand touch.

Taking a deep breath, he launched his attack.

"Must be quite the friend."

Sebastian made a questioning noise, still looking out with a contemplative frown on his face. Kurt sighed, reigning in the urge to kick into the bottom of the car like a petulant child.

"I mean, when _Puck_ comes around," and he knew he had seen Sebastian's whole face twitching, "or did, actually, before California, he used to raid the kitchen, hog the living room and barricade himself in Finn's room to defend his spoils."

Kurt grinned at the side of Sebastian's face, but was startled out of relatively fond memories by his quiet question.

"Your room?"

Sebastian's tone was careful and guarded and he was _still_ looking out as if the answers to his life wonderings lay in the sad remains of Finn's disbanded snowmen army.

"Noah Puckerman has certainly grown on me over time –"

_And that seems to be happening a lot lately, and not only with Puck_, he thought, biting his lip as he admired the rhythmic jump of the tendons on the back of Sebastian's tightly clenched fists.

"- but he's not allowed in my room without direct supervision from _me_, and that only for no more than ten minutes at a time."

Sebastian shot him a sideways look and nodded, his hands spreading open over the thick denim of his jeans.

"As I was saying," Kurt continued, frowning at his own knees, "friends don't usually go out of their way to bring each other food when visiting. " he paused, gearing up for an inevitable fight. "And you don't seem the type," he added quietly.

Sebastian's head whipped around to face him, _finally_, and yet Kurt would have given anything not to meet his eyes now.

Blaine's eyes had always held that needy, pleading glint in them, even at his most angry, and Kurt had inadvertently developed a defense mechanism against that particular form of manipulation. It had helped him greatly when it came to breaking things off between them permanently, as Blaine grew unbearably insistent for Kurt to forego NYU's fashion program and spend another year in Lima until he could reapply for NYADA, shiny teenage dream boyfriend bouncing happily at his side.

There was nothing needy about the cold fury in Sebastian's eyes, though, and Kurt realized belatedly that he had no idea how to deal with it, defuse it, direct anywhere else but at him.

"Oh, _really_," Sebastian said slowly, dangerously. "What type am I, then?"

Kurt gulped, holding his hands up loosely between the two of them, almost in surrender.

"You're not – not the cookies and coffee type?" he said lamely, hating the uncertainty in his tone.

Sebastian scoffed; he yanked the empty cup out of Kurt's grasp and held it up, uncomfortably close to Kurt's face.

"What _type_ am I, _Kurt_?" he snarled, and Kurt would have got out of the car in a huff that exact second if he hadn't noticed the trembling of Sebastian's hand.

He sighed softly and shook his head; then he reached up, caressing Sebastian's wrist with the back of his hand and prying the cup off of his livid fingers. Sebastian glared at him wordlessly, letting Kurt intertwine their fingers together loosely.

"I don't know what type are you," he whispered, gazing at their joined hands lying on the top of his thigh. "What will you give your friend now?"

"_Kurt_," Sebastian groaned, hanging his head slightly.

"You don't bring food to just _any _friend, Bastian."

He smiled tenderly around the nickname, hoping Sebastian would understand.

As predicted, when he got up the nerve to look up again, the other boy was gazing at him warily, shock visible in every line of his face.

"You remember."

"I wasn't _that_ drunk."

Sebastian sighed tiredly and rubbed his face with his free hand.

"Kurt," he whispered, as if it was nothing, as if he only wanted the name on his lips, rolling off his tongue.

Kurt squeezed his hand and shrugged.

"I was afraid – I thought you'd regret it after. That you wouldn't want to be friends anymore –"

Sebastian snorted.

"_Were_ we friends? _Are_ we?"

He rolled his eyes fondly when Kurt blinked at him bemusedly.

"Just today you almost wrote me my death sentence for _daring _to show up on your doorstep unannounced," he retorted accusingly with a petulant frown.

_Don't kiss him_, and, _whoa_, where had that come from. Of course he wouldn't kiss Sebastian.

"You haven't talked to me in _weeks_ –"

"One week and four days, actually," corrected Sebastian, narrowing his eyes. "And you haven't exactly been Little Miss Social lately, Peach."

Kurt groaned and dug his nails vengefully on the back of the other boy's hand. Sebastian merely flinched.

"_Don't call me –"_

"I'll call you whatever the fuck I please, _Kurt_. And I like Peach."

Something in Sebastian's tired smirk must have jolted it, because the memory was suddenly there, whole and clear like it had never been. Sebastian nodded smugly as Kurt's eyes widened in shock, but soon his expression sobered.

"I could taste you for _days_. Aidan's mom sent him a whole basket of those and I couldn't even smell them without walking around with a fucking hard-on all day." He smiled sourly when Kurt's fingers tightened around his. "And when you didn't even – fuck, Kurt."

"It was only a kiss," breathed Kurt, his vision swimming as he gazed at the boy's bent head.

Sebastian shook his head fiercely, meeting Kurt's eyes with the same fury from five minutes before, only Kurt had been wrong, it wasn't cold, it was about to burn him alive if he didn't leap out of it's destructive path soon enough.

Sebastian's eyes burnt so beautifully.

"What _type_ am I, Kurt?"

Kurt swallowed and shook his head, lost.

"I don't have friends in Lima. I fucking _hate_ Lima, and if I could I'd never set foot here ever again." He leaned closer. "What _type_ am I, Kurt?"

"You- you don't have to – come here, I mean, you could just –"

"No," Sebastian said resolutely. "I have to come to Lima. That's just – there's no going around it." He smiled gloomily. "I hate white chocolate, it's not even chocolate at all, and I'd never buy anything with it if I didn't know – what _type _am I, Kurt?"

"Sebastian –"

"I don't like letting people into my car. Don't know why, maybe it's just a thing." His eyes hardened, looking impossibly more vulnerable for it. "What _type_ am I, Kurt?"

"Oh _god_ –"

"I bought ten different brands of peach flavored lip balm and I still can't _find_ _it_. Do you brew that stuff in your basement?" He grasped Kurt's shoulder, shaking him gently. "What _type_ am I, Kurt?"

"I don't _know_ –"

Sebastian scowled and released his hand, cupping Kurt's face in both of his.

"You do. You know everything. You know labels, and steps, and appropriate touching and third-date sex and _feelings_. You know, you _do_, Peach." His jaw was set in a tight angle, his eyes emerald bright. "I just know coffee and cookies, and car heating and parkas. I just know dragging your drunken ass back to your dorm, and trying to do the honorable thing _for once_, and you saying –"

"_You're the prettiest of all the princes, Bastian_," mumbled Kurt, breathless and desperate.

Sebastian shook his head, his thumb brushing Kurt's cheekbone tenderly.

"'_I wish I was pretty enough for you to kiss me_. _Would you kiss me if I was pretty enough_?'" He chuckled darkly. "You're surprisingly articulate when you're plastered. Pity your skewed view of reality, though."

"Sebastian –"

"I should have stayed. Should have fucked you that night, like you were begging me to, and then you'd have to face me in the morning and you couldn't run and you –"

"_Jerk_," hissed Kurt, yanking his door open and jerking free of Sebastian's grasp to slip out off the car. The cold hit him like a physical wall and he lost his bearings for the few seconds that it took Sebastian to reach him.

"You can't – you're not ignoring me again, _Kurt_ –"

"Get _inside_, Sebastian," gritted out Kurt, violent shivers running through him.

"No, you can't, I won't let you –"

"Oh for – I'm _not_ about to kiss you with a gear stiff poking out my pelvis, thank you very much." He rolled his eyes at Sebastian's stunned expression. "So get into the backseat before I decide that being sick on Christmas is _so_ not worth making out with you."

If Kurt had been feeling a little less disgruntled by the other boy's idiocy and the biting cold – seriously, how had he handled being outside _without_ Sebastian's parka? – he would have laughed at the way Sebastian almost tripped over himself scrambling to get back inside.

Kurt breathed in deeply, ignoring the burn in his lungs. He sighed in relief, sure that it hadn't been just intoxication and gratitude driving him to Sebastian; the cold blast had managed to calm his frenzied hormones slightly, but his metaphorical heart was exactly in the right place. There had never been much doubt, but he knew that the moment he got into Sebastian's car again, his life would be turned around and on its head – and it felt wonderful to know he didn't give a damn.

Hearing a whisper of his name, he looked down to see that Sebastian hadn't even closed the door and was now staring up at him, his body already half out of the warm interior.

Kurt pinched his nose, thinking to himself mournfully that at least Blaine had had some sense of self-preservation.

"Get _inside_, you idiot. We can always volunteer for Christmas at the Hospital, you don't need to experience it first hand," he grumbled, pushing Sebastian away and getting into the car headfirst.

Over a detailed analysis of the situation later that night, Kurt was sure he had had enough points of leverage and support and that he hadn't _really _needed to lean on Sebastian's thigh for balance, nor had he needed to link his arm around Sebastian's shoulders in order not to slide off the seat.

Sebastian hadn't seemed to mind much, however; his arms had just wrapped around Kurt's waist securely, pulling him onto his lap, their chests colliding hard enough for their pained gasps to sound above the furious beating of their hearts.

"_Kurt_."

He felt like cracking a "That's my name" joke, but one glance at Sebastian's face and all traces of mirth were gone from his mind, because Sebastian looked _wrecked_.

He looked like a lost little boy clinging to Kurt for something he couldn't name, and Kurt's hormones gave way to a fierce protective urge. He wanted nothing more than to draw Sebastian in his arms and soothe him with whispered nonsense and sweet promises, all the more when the other boy looked down and started chuckling, low and a little hysterical.

"What – Sebastian, what –"

"I didn't even see my _parents_ yet, can you believe it."

Kurt pulled back, frowning bemusedly.

"What do you mean you –"

"I drove here," the other boy interrupted him quietly.

"I _can_ see your car, thank you, we're actually –" Kurt's mouth ran dry as he absorbed the real meaning of Sebastian's words. "What do you mean _you_ _drove_ _here_?"

Sebastian gazed at him with wide, unblinking eyes, a little too glassy for Kurt's taste.

The boy would be the death of him, one way or another.

"Sebastian Smythe."

Sebastian flinched, his arms tightening around Kurt's waist.

"Sebastian, where exactly did you drive _from_?"

_Please don't say it, please don't be crazy about this, please be the sane one because I'm already in too deep to be the rock, please –_

"New York," he said softly, lowering his eyes again like a chastised child.

Kurt groaned and let his head fall back against the shotgun headrest, screwing his eyes shut.

"Kurt?"

He could have killed himself and _then_ Sebastian at the hesitant tilt in the other boy's voice.

"What could have possessed you, it's an eleven-hour drive on a _very good day_, how did you –" He jolted forward, his hand flying to his mouth. "Oh god, Sebastian, you did not. Tell me you didn't."

Sebastian grinned at him toothily, the absolute _bastard, _and stroked his knuckles over Kurt's flushed cheek, his grin only growing wider when Kurt batted his hand away.

"You're a worrier. Figures," he said, sounding utterly delighted by it.

Kurt growled at him and started pushing and shoving at Sebastian's limbs, trying to arrange their bodies in a position that would allow him to observe him more closely. Sebastian went with it easily enough, letting out short bouts of laughter whenever Kurt brushed a ticklish spot.

When Kurt finally sat high and proud properly straddling his thighs, he cradled Sebastian's face in his hands and looked him over closely.

"You drove all night, didn't you?" he said wearily, releasing him with a sigh.

"Might have," replied Sebastian airily, cocking his head to the side.

"God, Sebastian –"

"I stopped to rest a bit at some service area two thirds of the way. Slept like a baby, woke up the very definition of bright eyed and bushy tailed, Peach."

He leaned forward tentatively, glancing up to catch Kurt's eye, as if asking for permission. Kurt hmphed and reached up, running his fingers through the hair at the back of the other boy's head, maybe a little too forcefully.

Sebastian's head lolled back, pushing into his hand insistently; Kurt chuckled warmly and obliged him, increasing the pressure of his fingertips to a full-blown scalp massage.

"Fuck, but you're good at that," he mumbled, his drooping eyelids and slack mouth making Kurt's heart stammer irregularly.

"Remember that sleeping thing, Sebastian? I think it's about time you started doing that again." He rolled his eyes when the other boy groaned a "_fuck you, Peach_" with so little heat that it almost sounded like an endearment. "When did you leave?"

Sebastian gazed blearily at him, blinking.

"'Bout eight. Got done with my last exam."

"PM?"

"No, AM. 'Cause I'm a wizard with teleporting abilities," retorted Sebastian snidely. "Yes, of course 8 PM, idiot."

Kurt tugged harder at his hair in retaliation. Suddenly, instead of wincing in pain, or pulling away or cursing Kurt within an inch of his existence, Sebastian let out a shamelessly long moan, prompting Kurt to drop his hand immediately, as if burnt.

Sebastian made a grumbling sound of protest and opened his eyes slowly.

"Don't _stop_."

"Sebastian, I – " Kurt started, his throat feeling raw.

"Don't _think_." Sebastian shook his head and sat up straighter, pulling an unprotesting Kurt closer to him. "You always think, about _everything_, and you never enjoy it."

"I have no idea what you might still be doing with me if I am that boring," retorted Kurt, struggling out of the other boy's grasp.

Sebastian held him tighter with a scowl.

"You're not boring. Would I drive all the way from _New York_ to this fucking cowtown if you were? We're not in Westerville, and you're _not _Blaine Anderson, Peach."

Kurt wanted to scold him for breaking their first-set rule of never actually mentioning Blaine's name. But he could never, not when Sebastian had just fully admitted to it, to being _that guy_.

The guy who would drive straight from New York to Lima to bring Kurt Hummel his favorite coffee-cookie combo.

And incidentally the guy who would save Kurt Hummel from deadly hypothermia.

Sebastian Smythe was _that guy_ and he knew it, and for that Kurt could forgive him almost anything.

"I'm aware," he said with a soft smile.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at him in suspicion.

"Stop. Stop it, you're going to get all sappy and clingy and no one wants to see _that_, stop it right now."

Kurt giggled, reaching up to kiss the tip of Sebastian's scrunched-up nose.

"_Stop it._"

"You're the coffee-and-cookie type, Bastian." One chaste kiss to the corner of Sebastian's mouth. "You're the parka-and-car-heating type." A gentle press to his bottom lip. "You're the _prince_ type."

Kurt looked a shocked Sebastian straight in the eye and winked before crushing their mouths together.


	11. Sticks and Stones

**anonymous asked: Kurt/Dave/Sebastian: Finding their daughter is laughed at in school because of the polygamous relationship of her fathers.**

* * *

Dave had always thought Liz was a pretty cool kid.

Sebastian could grumble about playing favorites all he wanted, and Kurt could bitch about "responsible parenting" and an "effective reward/punishment system" until he turned blue, but Liz was his little girl.

It didn't matter if it was just Kurt's last name on her birth certificate and just Kurt's blood in her veins. The three of them had kept their names as they were; no hyphens and no funny shit, and he wasn't going to be the douche who named his kid after what sounded like a fucking law firm.

Besides, Sebastian could whine and whine and _whine_: Dave had seen him enthralled by their girl's baby babbling; he had woken up to find only Kurt in their bed because Bastian had been roped into yet another storytelling marathon; he had almost broken a rib trying to bottle down his laughter at the vision that was a red-faced Sebastian carrying arms upon arms of shopping bags all because "Aunt Rach offered to go with me, but Papa says he'll salt and smoke her before she goes anywhere near any closet in the house, and _he_ has work, and so does Aunt Quinnie, and Daddy isn't allowed in lingerie stores anymore, but I'm not supposed to know why, and I really, really need a bra, it's _embarrassing_".

When Kurt had taken the time to scrutinize her wardrobe, he had walked around all weekend positively glowing with pride; he had also showered Sebastian extra hugs and extended foot rubs.

Sebastian didn't have a goddamn leg to stand on when it came to Liz since he was as undeniably whipped as Dave. He figured that, even if it had been his stuff or Sebastian's going to town on Rachel's - and wasn't that a horrifying image meant to shrivel any self-respecting gay man's balls –, whatever _Liz_ might have come out from that mix, they could not possibly love her more.

Dave had terrible moments when he believed he would have loved his biological child _less _for the lack of wide blue eyes and for not being able to jut out her bottom lip just the perfect amount to render two full-grown, able-minded men at her feet.

And just the two, since Kurt had some sort of freakish immunity that must come from shared world-domineering DNA.

And even as Liz went from drooling infant to stumbling toddler, from nosey pre-teen to unimpressionable teenager – and _God_, where had all the years gone when just seconds ago Sebastian was throwing two identical platinum rings at Dave and Kurt's heads, screeching about how he wasn't going to be the shifty other woman to the both of them, and hadn't that been a fucking night to remember –, even through all that time handling the most unstable yet so fucking worthwhile relationship he had ever seen with the addition of a permanent witness, Dave had always marveled at how well the whole thing had turned out.

Because, honestly, a Kurt Hummel/Rachel Berry cocktail was something that had a 99.99% chance of turning everything into gooey, foul smelling _shit_.

But Liz had turned out as sweet as Kurt high on golden reviews, as docile as Rachel drunk on more solos she could possibly perform, and Dave couldn't help but preen and gloat, because environment did _so_ trump DNA.

So the sudden disappearing act she had been pulling for a solid two weeks now was a little unnerving, to say the least. It wasn't like they sat her down and forced her to perk up and socialize after the obligatory family dinner, but she had always seemed content to suffer their company for another hour. And what was up with her snotty little "I'm _sixteen_, guys", anyway? Dave had always tinkered around with his schedule to be able to pick her up from the dozens of extracurriculars she had going at all times, and his daughter had always seemed grateful enough to avoid the "Papa, it smells like _people_" school bus or the "Dad, it smells like _homeless_ people" underground.

(_So maybe he had babied her a little. What with her old hope chest overflowing with white and pink ruffles plus her own tiara case, Bastian should really keep his trap shut._)

Dave was far from being pleased with all the emancipation going on at his house, and Kurt's saddened "She's a teenage girl, honey" and Bastian's unhelpful "Worst case scenario, we bribe her" did nothing to assure him that he was not so completely out of line has he thought.

But, door banging.

_"I'm not hungry!"_ which was _not_ something anyone in their right minds and with fully-functioning taste buds would ever think of uttering whenever Kurt Hummel was hit with a sudden bout of culinary inspiration.

The sign at the door, when she had never been _that kid_.

And there was that phone call from the school counselor, a measly, twitchy middle-aged woman with the fear of God in her beady eyes, a woman Dave was sure could not possibly have any tangible qualifications for her post considering the vague ramblings constantly interrupted by scratchy throat clearings and the really fucking annoying habit of turning perfectly good affirmatives into quivering questions.

Well, so maybe Dave didn't know jackshit about the woman's qualifications, but his nerves had been wound up so tight after slamming down the phone that he'd yelled Kurt's head off the moment he decided to peek it from the doorway to take dinner suggestions. They had gone through three whole days of takeout food – when Sebastian's roast became too much for them, which happened as soon as the smoke alarm went off for the third time – and Kurt leveling hurt glares at Dave until Sebastian hissed out through gritted teeth that he _would_ take Liz for an extended road trip far away from psychotic, emotionally stunted role-models until both of them came to their senses. Liz had cheered and toasted to that with the remains of her Dad's beer, and that was the first time Dave had seen his daughter smile in months.

"Something's up with Liz," he declared one night, sitting on the bed peeling off his socks, while Kurt sauntered back and forth from their ensuite bathroom to the bedroom and a buck-naked Sebastian lay sprawled on his stomach going over the yawn-worthy notes from his latest case.

Kurt gave him that little head tilt of his, the meaning of which could go from "The workings of your mind never fail to confound me" to "Leave those socks on the floor and I'll take the greatest pleasure in cold-bloodedly murdering you in our bed". Sebastian grunted distractedly and scowled harder at his own scrawling.

"Computers, Sebastian. A typewriter, even. Everything but that runic scribbling you call handwriting," Kurt quipped as he breezed by the bed, his hand trailing soothingly up Sebastian's naked back. The corners of his mouth twitched when his fingertips brushed the sensitive shell of Sebastian's ear, causing him to push up into the caress absentmindedly.

Dave frowned at his toes, digging them into the plush rug.

"Seriously."

Kurt sat down at the vanity table with a drawn-out sigh, long fingers tapping restlessly on the polished tabletop. His body was angled towards the mirror, but his eyes had never been less focused on his own reflection.

Sebastian dropped his head face first onto his improvised pillow, groaning.

Dave wanted to _shake_ them.

"There's _something_."

Kurt sighed again, rolling his eyes obviously enough for Dave to catch it on the edge of the mirror. "There's always something, Dave. She _is _sixteen."

Sebastian nodded into the pile with a rustling noise of crumpled up paper.

Dave shook his head in frustration and let himself fall back onto the bed, his shirt still half-undone, his head pillowed against the side of Sebastian's bare ass. His husband glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow but seemed to take pity on Dave's dejected state and leaned his upper body sideways on one elbow, reaching over to Dave's boxer-clad crotch and patting it reassuringly, letting his hand linger there as a bonus. Dave's mouth turned up slightly at the comfort of the familiar gesture, his eyes drifting closed, his mind a little numbed by Sebastian's warmth and Kurt's faint humming from across the room.

"The counselor… she was _worried_," he murmured sluggishly. The long day was catching up to him, and Sebastian's steady breathing and monotonous whispered self-discussion was lulling him right into dreamland.

The lights dimmed; the bed dipped beside him and there were soft hands tugging off his remaining sock and fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. He mumbled a half-hearted protest but let Kurt tug him this way and the other to strip him down to his underwear.

(_"She's been so distant lately. Rachel says it's just hormones and hot air, but… Talk to her Dave. I'm not saying that… but no one talked to _me_."_)

He heard a crinkling of paper and whimpered when his pillow slid away from him; Sebastian chuckled warmly, whispering something over to Kurt that Dave couldn't catch, but that must have been highly amusing and concerning him, judging by his husband's breathy giggle and the consequent tender kiss he pressed to Dave's forehead.

("_She's good at keeping quiet. Just like Kurt was. Make her talk to you, I don't care what you do, but do it. Or one day it'll just blow up in your face when you least expect it, and you got a messed up kid in a chokehold and no idea where to go from there."_)

He was rolled onto his stomach and inside the covers; soon there was no more light filtering through his eyelids and there were naked limbs slithering all over his prone body. He didn't really like being cradled between them for a whole night; that was usually Kurt's spot, and occasionally Bastian's, but Dave tended to be the cuddler, not the cuddlee. Also their AC had heaved its last balmy sigh almost a week before, and Dave wasn't very fond of waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and sighing for an icy nirvana far away from overly-handsy lifetime partners.

(_"She deleted her Facebook account. There were… you know, just stupid people. The "Aww, Babs has two Mommies" kind of stupid, uncle Dave. But I shouldn't… that's Liza's… it's her business."_)

But his mind was still on his daughter's locked door and apathetic murmurs, and Bas and Kurt were experts in manipulating him into a prime body-pillow position whenever he was at his most vulnerable. He grumbled in his sleepy daze, sighing quietly whenever Kurt's hair tickled the underside of his jaw or Sebastian's leg twitched between his thighs.

(_"There's… Mr. Karofsky, there's been some…. Incidents. I don't mean to… there's no real need for alarm, but maybe…_")

* * *

"Honestly, Mr. Karofsky… I believe this will all fizzle away into nothing sooner than later. Children, you know… boys will be boys?" Ms. Mathews assured him to the best of her capability, balking slightly at Dave's thunderous expression.

"_Boys_?" he gritted out.

(_"Boys will be boys, Paul. I'm sure Davey meant nothing by it. Just one of those harmless situations that can so easily get out of hand, and I've heard about that… _boy_. Bailey and I were just talking about it the other day, we always thought Carole Hudson had a little more sense than subjecting her son to… well, day and _night_, under the same roof, I would _never…")

Something sad and helpless flashed across Ms. Mathews face. She pursed her thin lips in a hard line, glancing distractedly around the hallway outside her office.

"Girls are more… discreet, Mr. Karofsky. High school dynamics are fascinating from an outsider's perspective, but…" She trailed off, her shoulders hunching forward. "There's so much _hate_. So cruel, all of them, and the girls… they hit so close to home." She heaved a dejected sigh and started fiddling with the hem of her worn, faded cardigan. "The boys are almost harmless… but only by comparison."

Dave clenched his fists, eyeing the shiny surface of the grey school lockers, his mind reeling with déjà vu. He turned away.

"So there have been boys. Girls. Attacks."

Ms. Mathews covered her mouth and shook her head in desolation.

"_Attacks_, Mr. Karofsky, honestly…" She paused, looking him square in the eye for the first time in a whole hour of exasperating information mining. "There are no witnesses coming forth. There is no tangible proof of foul play, and…" she stammered, struggling for diplomacy. "Well, Liza is not exactly the easiest child to work with."

His brow furrowed heavily as he stared her down, uncomprehending.

"What do you mean?"

She blinked at him in surprise.

"Certainly you know your own daughter, Mr. Karofsky."

(_"Why, Dave? What else haven't you told me? This… that boy, Kurt, he wasn't lying. He was telling me my son is a _bully_, and he wasn't lying. I… it feels like I don't even know you anymore, David. My own son, and I didn't…_)

* * *

"Well, she's kind of a bitch."

"_Sebastian_," Kurt chastised, but it was almost an after-thought; Dave could see it in the lax curve of his shoulders, in the way he hadn't even lifted his eyes from his sketchbook or his bare feet from Sebastian's lap.

Sebastian pressed his thumbs into the arch of Kurt's right foot, forcing a breathy moan out of his husband. Sebastian shot him a smug half-smirk, and kept up the good work.

"_Babe_. As if you didn't know. She _is_ your own stone and ice sludge, after all." He winced as Kurt's chilly toes sneaked under his shirt to dig into the warm skin of his abdomen in retaliation. "Bitch."

"Jerk," Kurt quipped easily, returning to his drafts with a focused frown.

Dave glared up at both of them from his seat on the floor between Sebastian's legs; he let out a pronounced sigh, and leaned his forehead against Bastian's knee.

(_"He must be way better in bed than Blaine let on, for you to put up with the whiny, pasty-faced princess all day. Did he blow you yet? I bet he won't, the little prude. Seriously, Dave, what in the holy name of fucking did you ever see in Gayface?_)

"Y'know, she's your daughter too." Dave shrugged as Sebastian raised his eyebrows at him. "You might wanna tone down the insults around her. Parental trauma and such."

Sebastian and Kurt shared a look, one of those strange telepathic glances that used to make Dave's stomach churn, and his knuckles itch. Over the years he had noticed his own brand of telepathy that involved his palm cupping Kurt's elbow or his feet kicking Sebastian's ankle hard underneath the table. It wasn't earning him any trophies for subtlety, but at least it always drove his point home.

"Sebastian doesn't mean –" Kurt started, his forehead scrunching up quizzically.

"It's a _compliment_, you ass. Liza's much better off being the lovely cold-blooded fiend she is than turning into a worthless pushover, like those little fuckers want her to –"

"_Sebastian_," and there was no vagueness in Kurt's tone this time. His warning cut sharp through Sebastian's expression, making him clamp his mouth shut without so much as another peep.

Well, Dave was no fucking idiot, even if those two were happily making him look the part.

"You knew," he articulated deliberately slow, his voice dripping with accusation. He stood up with a start, staggering away from the couch and almost toppling over their pricey yet fragile coffee table. "What have you been playing at, you _knew_ something was off, you _knew_ what was wrong and didn't bother to fucking clue me in?" He spread his hands in front of him, turning to Kurt who had been eyeing him warily, chewing anxiously on his bottom lip. "Fuck, Kurt, I would expect shit like this from _Sebastian_," he flapped his hand in his husband's direction, ignoring the tension around Sebastian's locked jaw, "but you? Do you even know – Jesus, I've barely slept these last few days, thinking she might be – I don't even know _what_, but you obviously do," he snarled, slamming his hand down on the head rest of the nearest armchair.

Kurt was up as soon as he grew quiet, reaching for Dave's shaking hands with his own. Dave jerked away, almost shoving Kurt back onto the couch.

He yanked his jacket off the coat hanger and left without a backwards glance, slamming the front door behind him.

* * *

"Daddy?"

Dave's head snapped up, his eyes finally leaving the hell-sent paperwork he had been mulling over for the last two hours.

His daughter stood leaning against the doorway of his office, her expression more tentative and unsure than he ever wanted it to be.

"What – Shouldn't you be at school?" he asked, still a little bewildered. Then something clicked in his head with the sound of a trigger being pulled, _Kurt_, _Bas_, and he was out of his chair and stumbling across the room in less time than it took Liz to smile reassuringly.

"Nothing happened, Daddy, they're _fine_. Everyone's fine." She paused emphatically, her eyebrows disappearing beneath her bangs. "Which, of course, you would _know _if you went home for more than just crashing on the couch."

Dave gulped, repressing the urge to squirm under her judging glare. He was a full-grown adult, wholly responsible for his own actions and _not_ a chickenshit closet-case with a need for an attitude fix.

"That's none of –"

"My business, yes."

"It's just between me and –"

"My dads, I know."

"Stop–"

"Being a brat? A smartass? Little Miss Loudmouth?" she offered, rolling her eyes in a fashion so eerily similar to Kurt's that it always managed to mellow him up in the worst possible occasion. "They take turns with Aunt Rach. Aunt Quinnie is the only one talking like a sane human being instead of a pod person, but she doesn't know much either, so –" She sighed quietly, the corners of her mouth tugging downwards. "You should come home. Properly. Papa's a verifiable walking and talking _nerve_ and Dad's not faring much better, either." Her nose twitched with distaste. "He locked Mrs. Birkins' Chihuahua in the garage."

Dave choked on laughter, the pressure on his chest lifting just the slightest bit.

"The rat's a menace. Besides, Bas has been threatening to do that for _ages_."

She nodded pointedly, her eyes widening dramatically. "_Threatening_. Then, last night, we were having dinner – Daddy, _please_ come home, if I have to go through one more of those you'll have to institutionalize me, I mean it, the silverware _echoes_ – and Tiberius kept yapping and yapping, you know those screechy little noises he makes, no one would call that a _bark_, and Dad, you should have seen him, he gets all thunder and menace, slams down his glass – you guys watch _way_ to much bad drama – and goes out the door without a word." She grabbed his arm and led him over to one of the chairs in front of his desk, choosing to sit on his own ergonomic chair without even a glance to ask for permission. "Papa just kind of stood there, staring at Dad's chair, and I was almost going after him when Tiberius _finally_ shut up so I thought I'd just stay put because, you know, accessory to the crime and all."

He let himself laugh at that, wanting nothing more than to hug her breathless and ruffle her hair, but he learned fast after almost having his hand bitten off the last time he tried that.

Her face grew somber and she lowered her eyes to the top of his desk, her eyebrows knitting together.

"It's her own fault for letting him out on the hallway." She traced one finger over the framed picture of the four of them. "I look like a moron in here," she mused, jumping subjects fast enough to make him a little dizzy. "Papa got sunburn and half his nose was peeling off, and Dad still had that beanie he took everywhere even though it made Papa want to hurl." Liz narrowed her eyes. "_Because_, right? God, those two." She tilted her head at the picture then glanced up at Dave. "And _you_ still had that skin rash. I mean, what even."

He beamed at her and jerked his chin to the frame, holding out his hand. She passed it to him wordlessly.

"Your Dad had just told that joke, you _know_ the one, and your Papa was cackling like he was _deranged_, like he always does. See?" He traced his fingertips slowly over Kurt's wide grin, clearing his throat when he caught his daughter's knowing smile. "And that was the first time we took you to the beach, remember? You went bat-shit _insane_ that day." He grinned back at the slip of a girl waving maniacally at the camera. "And that beanie was really fucking adorable," he observed, his eyes soft and warm as he took in his family.

She snorted and stole the frame back, giving it a dismissive glance before returning it to its original place. "Aunt Quinnie works wonders even with subpar models."

He shook his head at her in a mock threat. "Watch who you're calling 'subpar', rugrat. Not seeing you on any glossy covers lately, either." He sobered and met her eyes searchingly. "So, no fire, no flood, no looming death threats. Mrs. Birkins will probably sue your Dad's ass, but he's used to that already." She opened her mouth but he held up one hand, silencing her. "And I never left. This _is _between me and your dads, so –"

"My locker got spray-painted last week," she said quietly, not meeting his eyes. "'_Slut'_. Original, huh?" She made a face at the documental mess on his desk, as if only noticing it then. "I don't care. Ignorant gorillas, the lot of them. Even the females. And I don't care about the notes, and the disgusting catcalls, the _slurs_." She laughed mirthlessly, and it cut through Dave like an acid burn. "They're not _homophobes_. I mean, who is in this day and age, right? It would be… easier, I guess, if they were, 'cause that would just be ridiculous and an express expulsion ticket. They're the Avengers of Monogamy – they have _flags_. And an hymn."

"Liz –"

"A short one, though. They're still trying to rhyme 'promiscuous', but none of them really knows what it means so they're kind of stumped for now. I would have suggested 'polygamous', but then I'd have to _explain_, and _God_, the headache."

Dave wasn't seeing straight. His vision was getting red around the edges and he had to grip his seat to keep from storming off into the closest, most illegal gun shop he could find and then he would –

"But I don't – it doesn't _matter_. They can throw whatever they want at me, I don't give a _fuck_. " She glanced at him apprehensively and in any other life he would have laughed and brought out the swear jar, he would have –

He would have.

"Papa knew right from the beginning. I didn't – I couldn't tell _anyone_, but he just – he knew. Figured it out." She reached out to cover his white-knuckled fists; he looked down in shock, not having noticing the sad remains of the pencil he had managed to break into five pieces. "He told Dad and Aunt Rach heard by accident, but they didn't – Papa didn't want to tell you. Dad did, but he ended up agreeing with him. We've been looking at other options for –"

"Transferring," retorted Dave, the repressed violence in his voice scaring him more than anything.

Liz nodded curtly. "I'll finish this semester. I have to, and I will. I don't care about them. But I can't concentrate, and it's not _fair_ that I can't walk over to my locker without some _Neanderthal_ tripping me up and hooting out 'Nympho!' at every chance they get." She dug her chin into her chest, her hair falling over the sides of her face like a glossy curtain. "I thought I'd just deal for now, and then – then it would be fine again, it would be good again. But _today_ –"

Dave held his breath, his mind locking up in a panic, _Oh God, don't let it, fuck, please, not her, not my girl, Jesus, please _–

"But there was this boy today. A freshman, and he looked the part, too, tiny and awkward and _scared_. They were taking turns giving him swirlies, mouthing off about his 'whore mom' and his 'limp-dicked dads', how they didn't want that kind of trash at _their_ school, when were the private showings at his house and how much did his mom ask for to take it up the –" She dissolved in sobs, covering her face with violently trembling hands, her body folding into itself until she was curled on his chair.

He circled the chair in a daze, tripping over his paper basket and slamming his knee on a half-open drawer, but later he would only look baffled at the bruise, because he couldn't feel, he couldn't hear, there was that pounding in his head that was only half-relief, the rush of blood audible for once, he could barely see, and then only dimly and only his daughter, his baby girl, Liz, Liz, _Liza_ and she was a fucking wreck, had probably been for months now and he hadn't known, how could he not.

He just wanted to strangle Kurt and Sebastian and to go to his knees for advice, because they had been dealing with this shit without him but they had been _dealing_, and how did one go about comforting their kid and telling them it was fine, or that I would be, when one knew it wasn't, it could never possibly be, and he just felt like sobbing his heart out alongside her.

He didn't call home. He didn't call Rachel, or Quinn, or his dad or even _Burt_, even though that would have been the smartest thing to do, since Burt was someone who could tell them it would be fine and be _right_. He took the rest of the day off, not even bothering with a real excuse – and really, the crying mess of a teenage girl holding onto his arm with a death grip should be excuse enough – and drove them to the animal shelter.

Liz followed him out of the car easily enough, even though she kept glancing around with huge, constantly watering eyes. Only when they reached the cage area did she turn to him with a questioning look.

"You've wanted one for ages."

She looked down at a creamy pit-bull puppy gnawing at its floppy ear determinedly, and Dave crowed internally as her lips quirked into a heart-felt smile.

"You can't – you don't need to fix this, and you _can't _fix it with a pet, Daddy."

"I will fix it, love. One way or another, we'll work it out." He beamed down at her, even if it made the rigid muscles of his face contract painfully. "Puppy's just a bonus."

"Papa won't let you."

"Just as long as we steer clear of the hairier drool-dispensers, I don't think he'll mind all that much."

"Dad is not much of a dog person."

"Your Dad's not a Chihuahua person and, honestly, if you end up picking one of those, it stays in the garage."

She kept her expression blank as she glanced around at the multi-colored, multi-sized specimens. However, and despite her struggle, she didn't manage to suppress a small _oh_ of pure endearment when they passed by the goofiest four-legged creature Dave had ever laid eyes on. It looked like it might be a black Lab and Bulldog mix, among other things.

When Liz crouched down to get a better look, the pup tried to stick its snout out, but it never quite managed to do so, though it persevered, bumping its head continuously against the bars. Dave was ready to suggest they moved on to something with a few more - read, _some_ – IQ points, but the moment he looked down at his daughter he knew she was done for. She was gazing at the excitable creature licking eagerly at her fingers with what he could not help but deem _puppy love_. He resigned himself to his fate, knowing his expression was probably a mirror image of Burt Hummel's on the day of his son's wedding.

After filling the unavoidable paperwork and scheduling the date for taking the mutt home with them –

("_But, Daddy, can't we take him now, please, let's take him now, look at him, c'mon!"_)

- Dave felt a little more composed and sure of his footing. He knew Kurt and Sebastian would have some objections to the latest addition to the family, but Dave also had some objections to being unceremoniously subtracted from the family loop. Even if he could see where Kurt had been coming from with that, it did not make it all right, and he would make sure to let them know.

* * *

"I get up earlier than you. I have the right to watch the morning news in peace without some snoring fart-geyser squatting on my couch."

"What Sebastian is trying to say here," started Kurt sparing a reproving glare at his sulking husband, "is that he would really appreciate it if you came back to our bed, Dave. _Really_ appreciate," he stressed with wide, earnest eyes.

Sebastian opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again at Kurt's unimpressed eye roll and _blushed_.

_That_, even more than the covert death trap that was their ridiculously expensive couch, was what had talked Dave into stripping the bedding off of the leather cushions and dumping them dutifully in the laundry basket.

Kurt locking the door with fumbling fingers and turning around to shove him onto his back on the bed, then crawling all over him with an hungry glint in his eyes was a definite plus, though, as were the desperate, broken noises Bastian kept making as Dave sucked new marks on his husband's long neck.

"That was –"

"Oh _God_, don't you dare cliché away my buzz," groaned Sebastian with his eyes still closed and his trembling legs akimbo on the bed.

"It _always_ is," murmured Kurt, lifting his head from Dave's shoulder to kiss his cheek.

_Yeah_, Dave assented to himself, drifting into unconsciousness, _it really is, thank fucking God_.

* * *

**A/N:** Need some teeth-rotting fluff ASAP.


End file.
